


The Light

by RonaldIris



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Path (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonaldIris/pseuds/RonaldIris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter is a nineteen year old drug addict that gets kicked from his home. While on the streets he runs into Cal Roberts, a mysterious man who claims to be the head of a movement that promotes healing and faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light

**Author's Note:**

> I recently got into The Path and I just had to put these two together. This chapter includes drug use and implied rape, nothing too explicit. I have to warn I am by no means an expert on PCP use and am solely going on information found with a quick Google search. Feel free to stop by my tumblr, ronaldiris.tumblr.com

Fading in and fading out. Everything was muffled and it was dark. There was the light of the desk lamp, swirling and twisting into different colors. Yellow, blue, black, red, purple. The colors melded and created new colors. A hand came into view and twisted in what must have been uncomfortable, but there was no pain in this. Nothing but bliss.

Hannibal blinked blearily as he stared at his hand, watching it waver around the edges. Distantly, there was the sound of footsteps and he paid them no mind. They just blended into the symphonies that were going through his head, coming out of his ears and making the most beautiful pictures against the ceiling.

Light came into the room and he blinked again, confused for just a moment. A shadow blocked the light and he smiled slowly without meaning to. The shadow shifted and moved and began to dance along the roof. It whispered his name and he smiled wider.

In the next instant he blinked and he wasn't staring at the ceiling. He looked around, seeing that he was standing now, standing at the wall of his room, looking over the photos that were plastered on the board. He didn't have much here but there was a picture he favored among all the others.

Blond hair and dark eyes stared back at him, the ghost of a smile against his little sister's lips. She moved and he watched as she did a twirl and giggled. The giggle grew louder and louder, growing in such intensity. But, it wasn't scary. In fact, Hannibal felt himself laughing along with her. He didn't hear the door of his room opening and closing again, the dancing shadow behind him long gone by the time he blinked again.

\--

Breakfast smelled good. Of course, it always smelled good when Lady Murasaki made it. Hannibal sat down at the table and a plate was presented to him. He avoided the strong and stern gaze of his uncle from across the table and waited for Lady Murasaki to put the finishing touches together and join them. Things were so much better when she was there as a buffer.

However, something was different this time around. She sat down but the tension didn't ease up, it only seemed to get worse. Hannibal finally raised his gaze and met his uncle head on. He looked terribly displeased and Hannibal had a feeling it was about the previous night's daliance. He swallowed subtly to keep himself from appearing too nervous.

Uncle Robert wasn't playing around anymore, though.

"I want you to pack up and leave."

Cold washed over Hannibal's body. He couldn't say he was surprised. He knew this was going to be coming someday. But, to be faced with it. To have it right there in front of him where there was no escape any longer. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked back down to his plate. The smell of food was beginning to make him sick. He looked up at Lady Murasaki, his only rock in this place.

She didn't look back as she cut into her egg, the yolk running free over her knife. The silence was deafening and the cold grew. The cold, the cold, it was all over, spreading from deep inside of himself and reaching out its claws, touching his muscles and his bones. He knew his hand was shaking. He could hear the scraping against the plate as he gripped his fork, tighter and tighter.

Hannibal swallowed again, thicker. The cold grew colder and then he began to realize that it wasn't cold. It was heat, burning so hot that it felt cold. He ground his teeth so hard he was sure something cracked. He saw Lady Murasaki, beautiful and adoring as she was, look at him out of the corner of her eye.

Fearful.

She should be.

Hannibal blinked and in an instant he heard the screaming. He felt delicate hands on his arms, grabbing, pulling. He felt heat on his hands, blood soaking them as he stabbed the fork again and again into Uncle Robert's chest. Lady Murasaki was screaming and crying and trying to stop him. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

Another blink and Hannibal looked around, seeing that he was no longer in the house that he had made a home for the past ten years. He looked down to his hands, caked in dried blood. He had nothing with him but the clothes on his back. He looked around again, finding he wasn't anywhere he knew.

The buildings looked strange and dark, even in the bright sunlight. He made his way over to an exposed pipe in a wall and put his hands under the slow drip. He cleaned as much of the blood as he could but found he couldn't get all the red to go away. It stained his skin just as it stained his clothes. He hoped desperately that none of it was Lady Murasaki's.

\--

Hunger clawed at Hannibal's insides. He didn't know what to do anymore. He had tried going to places, getting a job. He had even tried going to a shelter. He was turned away at the door. They had no room. He considered going back to the orphanage that he had been left at before Uncle Robert came around and he knew without putting it into practice that it would be impossible. He was nineteen and they had forgotten him years ago. Just another dead eyed child left to fend for themselves in that hell hole.

It was wet, the rain having only relented an hour before. Hannibal was soaked and the chill was getting to him. He walked the streets and scratched at his arms. He kept looking at the people around him. He knew they were staring at him. He could feel their eyes on his back. Normal people going about their normal days, normal lives. None of them knew him and yet they judged. He could feel it in their stares.

Hannibal couldn't deal with this right now. He needed a place for the night. He walked and he walked and it was late, the sun having passed hours ago. Finally, while he walked, while he shivered, there was a voice that cut through the night.

"Hey, kid, you alright?"

Hannibal stopped walked and looked. A man stood nearby, leaning against his doorway, the light from his house pouring out onto the wet sidewalk. Hannibal didn't answer, couldn't find the words. The man didn't need them.

"I've seen your type before. I know exactly what you need. Come here."

The man beckoned him and Hannibal considered just walking away. He heard the stories, he knew how this was going to end. If it didn't end in his death it would be so much worse. But, the man just grinned and he grinned and he stepped aside. The light beckoned and there was a distant rumble from the sky.

Hannibal's feet moved for him and carried him up the single stone step into the house, stepping from the sidewalk and inside. He felt the man's gaze running over him and closed his eyes at the sound of the door closing behind him, trying not to flinch at the sound of the lock sliding into place.

\--

The first hit slams into Hannibal's cheek like a freight train. He should have known that this one was going to end like this. He had seen the signs. The dealer was acting shady and getting too close for comfort. He had seen the thinness of Hannibal's arms and the way his fingers twitched eagerly at his sides.

It was easy.

Hannibal knew he should fight back. He needed to. But, he fell and his body gave out. Cold heat rushed through him and he wanted to lash out but his arms wouldn't listen. A swift kick to his abdomen had him gagging on bile. He didn't move and swift hands searched him, grabbing at his pockets and taking the hundred that Hannibal had earned. He was going to use the most of it for the buy anyway. Now, he was getting nothing.

He hoped the dealer would kill him and he closed his eyes to the swelling darkness.

\--

He wasn't dead.

Hannibal bit back a sob as he shifted up to his knees. Pain flared through him and he couldn't stop himself from punching the ground. Tears that wouldn't come heated his eyes and he just stayed there on his hands and knees. He considered just staying here. Finally, his body decided to listen to him.

He laid back down and closed his eyes.

\--

Distant voices drew Hannibal back to the light. He blinked slowly and groaned at the sun as it landed in his eyes. He couldn't see, it was far too bright. He heard the voices all around him and he blinked slowly again, creaking his eyes slowly to look up at a figure blocking out the light. He realized he was being held and the strong arm around his shoulders was keeping him from moving.

He felt something against his lips and without thinking he opened them to accept whatever was pushed in. He had been through his motion before but he was surprised when cold liquid came to him, tasteless. He coughed and sputtered and distantly realized that it was water. He barely got in a breath before he reached savagely for the bottle to get more.

It was taken away from him and he tried to whine in desperation. He couldn't even remember the last time he had water. His wrist was taken in a strong hand before he could grab it and he was pulled and made to sit up more. He felt nothing but warmth against his side as that voice came to him again.

"Shh, it's okay. Just relax. You can't drink it quickly, you'll just make yourself sick."

The voice was incredibly soothing and Hannibal had never heard someone who sounded so calm and welcoming like that. Not without them wanting something in return. He wanted to see this person, this man, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes just yet.

The bottle came back and Hannibal eagerly lapped at it. He swallowed what was given to him in great gulps and nearly forgot to breath, harsh pants coming when the bottle was taken away. His throat felt clear for the first time in what seemed like years. His hands clutched at the shirt of the man holding him and he buried his face into his shoulder.

"There we go. Good, good. My name is Cal Roberts. I'm here to help you. Can you walk?"

He was about to find out if he could. This man, Cal, was already moving, helping him to stand. His legs were shaking and he didn't know if he could walk far. The arm around his shoulders never left and held him up, making sure that he was stable.

Finally, Hannibal forced his eyes open against the sun. It hurt, the light hurt so much. He looked over to Cal, looked up at him and the man met his gaze, smiling softly. His eyes shone bright and his smile was nothing but comforting. It was the most beautiful thing that Hannibal had ever seen. Cal didn't say anything and just kept smiling at him, starting them walking out of the alley that Hannibal had been in and to a large van at the side of the street.

Hannibal didn't know where they were going, but he knew one thing. Cal had made him feel safe for the first time in a long time and he felt that things were going to be okay.


End file.
